by D.L. Jackson
So, I recently had my mid-year review at my nine-to-five. Now at work, it’s not a secret what I write. I laid it out on the table by giving my bosses each a copy of one of my books when I was first published. So when asked to comment on what I think the department did right and what they could do better, that evil author inside me came to the forefront like Mr. Hyde.
The first thing my boss mentioned in the review: “I should have known better than to ask an author for her opinion.” As we went through the novel I’d pinned for my review, my boss just shook his head and laughed. “I guess you have a lot to say. You don’t go easy on anything do you?”
No. No, I don’t.
So, if you have read one of my books, it shouldn’t surprise you if I told you I am an evil author.*insert maniacal laugh* It’s the simple pleasures....
What’s an evil author?
Well, we tend to inflict pain. We love torture and we are literary sadists. Simply put, I’m a mean girl to my characters. Ah, the author giveth and the author yanks it out from under their character’s feet and causes grievous bodily injury.
I was once asked if I could be a character in one of my books, which book would I want to be in and which character? Um, yeah, about that. My answer: “No.”
To which the interviewer scratched their head and said. “It wasn’t a yes or no answer.”
“Let’s try no way in hell, then.” I then began to elaborate on the things I put my characters through and why only an insane person would want to go through that. By the end of the interview, the interviewee was in agreement.
You see, I’m all about high stakes and long, hard falls. I firmly believe in the law of gravity: What goes up, must come down. Only my law goes something like this: What goes up, must come crashing to Earth in a ball of fire, scorching miles upon impact.
Um, that’s another thing I like to do. I love to cleave a path of destruction, blow things up, vaporize them. Uh, maybe I better get back to the post. My muse is getting all excited.
Now where was I?
Ah, yes. Evil author. When one of my critters tells me I made her cry, I smile and tell her I’ll have to try harder. Now, being evil doesn’t mean you’re headed for a sad ending. Not so. I do believe in riding off into that sunset, or starset, in this case.
With all my romances, no matter how brutal the journey, I promise you all they suffer, will be worth it. In the end, things work out. My characters have a chance to grasp that happily ever after and it’s all the sweeter. I just never claimed the journey getting there would be easy. For me it never is. So why should I take it easy on them? Slackers!
I hope you’ll check out my newest release and all the evil awesomeness I’ve rained down upon my trio, Ava, Seth and Brodie. This is not a ménage, but a love triangle, and in the end, only one guy gets the girl. But hey, that’s what sequels are for. Right? Here’s a little excerpt to wet your whistle.
Excerpt: Rebel Souls
Okay, maybe he should have let her shoot him. Seth yanked on the cuffs that linked him to the solid iron headboard. The last thing he was inclined to do was explain to anyone how he’d found himself cuffed to the damned bed, his pants down around his knees, with his ball-sack glued to his thigh by dried cum. And when he didn’t contact his ship for his nightly check-in, they’d come looking. Whoo-hoo for protocol and bio-tags.
The League despised bad publicity. If anyone guessed the activities he’d been engaged in…. Yeah, and like this didn’t say it all, no guessing needed. He eyed his com, only inches from the headboard where she’d set it after calling for a shuttle. He wasn’t flexible enough to get his foot up to push it into reach. His pants bound his legs together, making it twice the challenge. Add the cuffs that kept him from reaching his com, and he wasn’t going anywhere, not until someone freed him.
Idiot. Why the hell did he forget who he was dealing with? Of course, the oral sex had been a distraction, one gigantic, orgasmic distraction. He should have seen this coming and he’d gotten what he deserved for thinking from below his beltline.
He glanced at his com. Think. How can you get it? Rock the bed? No, bolted to the floor. Yell for help? With the party going on outside on the street, doubtful anyone would hear him, and did he really want them to see this? Yes. Better than his subordinates. His crew couldn’t, wouldn’t see him like this. He opened his mouth to yell at the top of his lungs.
Beep, beep, beep. Seth turned his head and eyed his com. Fantastic. For once, they were ahead of schedule. When he got free, he’d find her. And when he did….
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